


A Touch Like Fire

by propheticfire



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, cloneshipping, reaching the next level, there's no reg manual for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 09:06:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13186863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/propheticfire/pseuds/propheticfire
Summary: For all that they’re close, it almost feels…wrong…to think about Gala that way. Would Gala even want it? Yes, he loved Gala, he knew that. And Gala loved him. But this was a kind of intimacy that they’d already said theydidn’thave for each other. What if it messed everything up?





	1. Uyo

“Hey.”

Uyo’s tone is soft as he gazes down at Gala, propped up by pillows on the medcenter bed. Gala’s knee is starting to bruise, but at least the swelling has gone down a little. Uyo runs a hand gently over it. “How are you feeling?”

Gala shrugs. “All right I suppose.”

“Any numbness or tingling?” Uyo continues to gently feel around the knee, testing the give of the tissue.

“Just heat,” Gala says.

Uyo nods. “That’ll be the bacta injection. With any luck, you should be up and walking again by tomorrow.”

“I bet I could make it out tonight, if I try hard enough.” Gala’s knee flexes under Uyo’s hands.

Uyo hisses and clamps down on Gala’s leg, causing Gala to wince. “ _You promised me you’d keep still._ That’s the only reason I didn’t sedate you for the healing process.” But Uyo softens his voice again as he repositions Gala’s knee on its cradle of pillows. “I know how much you hate that.” He pats Gala’s leg, and his mouth quirks in a sheepish look. “Sorry.”

Gala tries to smile, though his brows are still knitted in a grimace. “It’s okay. Should have kept my promise. Didn’t feel so good anyway; that was stupid of me.”

Uyo smiles gently and pulls up a stool. He scoots it up to sit near Gala’s head, resting his palm lightly against Gala’s cheek. “I was worried, you know. When they carried you in here, I thought it was gonna be a lot worse.”

Gala only hums in response, leaning into Uyo’s hand and letting his eyes drift closed.

“You’re lucky it was just the kneecap,” Uyo continues, stroking Gala’s cheek lightly with his thumb. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d had to take your leg.”

And it’s true. Uyo’s mind drifts to the possibilities. Could he have done it? If it came to that, could he really have done it? It wouldn’t be his first amputation, but _Gala._ It would have been _Gala_. His best friend. His more than best friend. His more than brother. His…whatever they are. His _person._ He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that more and more often he catches himself looking at Gala, admiring the wide expanse of his chest, the solid strength of his gunner’s thighs. That he sometimes stops himself from reaching out and tracing the swirling tattoos over Gala’s shoulders. That when Gala smiles, his breath gets caught in his throat and he feels his face flushing. For all that they’re close, it almost feels… _wrong_ …to think about Gala that way. Would Gala even want it? Yes, he loved Gala, he knew that. And Gala loved him. But this was a kind of intimacy that they’d already said they _didn’t_ have for each other. What if it messed everything up?

“I’m sure they would’ve gotten you a new leg,” Uyo murmurs.

He _senses,_ rather than feels or hears, that _something is not right_ , and he pulls himself out of his thoughts to see Gala trembling slightly, face tucked into Uyo’s palm, breath coming in short gasps. Immediately he jumps up from the stool. _“Gala,”_ he calls, running his other hand through Gala’s hair, “Gala what is it? Are you in pain?”

Gala jerks, as though startled, and before Uyo can say anything else his expression slips into a placating smile. “I’m fine,” he says, reaching for Uyo’s hand and drawing it gently away from his face. “I got lost in thought; I’m sorry.”

_“Sleenshit,”_ Uyo retorts. “You think I don’t know when you’re lying to me?” He pulls a small light out of his pocket and flashes it over Gala’s eyes. “Are you having any pain besides the knee? Are you having shortness of breath?”

Gala captures Uyo’s other hand when he sets the light down to check Gala’s pulse. _“I’m fine,”_ he says again. “I’m not in any pain. Besides the knee. I swear it.”

Uyo looks into Gala’s eyes, _his beautiful brown eyes_ , and he sees truth. But there’s something else there, something that Gala is still trying to hide. And Uyo would call him on it, but he is suddenly acutely aware of how close they are, his hands held by Gala, framing Gala’s face, his chest inches from Gala’s, their breath mingling in soft, warm pulses. His eyes drift to Gala’s lips, quivering slightly, and if he could just…he could just…

“Do it,” Gala whispers.

Uyo’s lips are on Gala’s before his mind can comprehend what’s happening. The sweet heat radiating from them draws him closer, deeper, and Gala’s mouth parts beneath him. His tongue slides over Gala’s, softly, gently, and is met with a whimpering moan, from Gala or from himself he’s not sure. His head is spinning, and each light scrape from Gala’s stubble across his skin sends waves of tingling fire rippling through him. He presses closer still, feeling the weight of Gala’s strong hands at the back of his neck. Gala is moaning again, but he’s moaning too, as their tongues caress each other, and he knows he needs to breathe soon, but through the haze of his mind he thinks that if he died right now he would be content, because Gala, Gala…

_“Gala.”_

Uyo breaks the kiss with a gasp. He stays close, eyes closed, trembling slightly, forehead pressed against Gala’s. The warmth of Gala’s shaky breathing and the weight of his hands on Uyo’s neck are almost intoxicating. It’s more than anything Uyo could have imagined.

Finally, he pulls back, to look at Gala. Gala’s face is flushed, and his eyes are shining. A small smile plays at the corner of Gala’s mouth. “Do you…” he begins, his voice as breathless as Uyo feels. “Do you treat all your patients this way, doctor?”

Uyo can’t help the giddy giggle that bubbles up from his chest. He brings his hands to Gala’s face, cupping his cheeks. Swiftly, he leans in and steals another kiss. As he pulls back, he presses a soft peck to the tip of Gala’s nose, making them both smile. And he feels, deep in his heart, that things between himself and Gala will never be the same again.

“Only the ones I really, really like.”


	2. Gala

“Hey.”

Gala looks up from the datapad at the sound of Uyo’s voice. Uyo is tired, he can tell, but he’s trying to hide it. He’d insisted on being the one to treat Gala, but after guiding Gala’s kneecap back into place, he’d been swept up in the chaos of the after-battle infirmary, and Gala hadn’t seen him. Thankfully––though the medcenter is full––it seems like the majority of injuries are breaks and dislocations, rather than anything more serious. 

“How are you feeling?” Uyo continues, gently running a hand over Gala’s knee.

Gala sets the datapad aside and shrugs. “All right I suppose.”

Uyo’s delicately tattooed hands continue to feel around Gala’s knee. “Any numbness or tingling?”  


“Just heat,” Gala replies.

Uyo nods as he continues his examination. “That’ll be the bacta injection. With any luck, you should be up and walking again by tomorrow.”  


Under Uyo’s touch, Gala feels the stiffness in his knee melting away. If he gives it a couple stretches now, it would probably help it limber up faster. “I bet I could make it out tonight, if I try hard enough,” he says, flexing his knee.

The shooting pain that engulfs his leg is only made worse by Uyo forcefully pushing his knee back onto its cradle of pillows. He sucks in a sharp breath and bites his bottom lip to keep from crying out.

_“You promised me you’d keep still,”_ he hears Uyo scold. “That’s the only reason I didn’t sedate you for the healing process.” But Uyo softens his voice, and his touch, as he rearranges the pillows around Gala’s leg. “I know how much you hate that.” With a sheepish grin, he pats Gala's leg. “Sorry.”

The pat sends another jolt of pain shooting through Gala’s leg, but he tries to smile anyway. “It’s okay. Should have kept my promise. Didn’t feel so good anyway; that was stupid of me.”

For a man who liked to be precise with his words, “didn’t feel so good” and “that was stupid” were probably the grossest understatements for what had just happened. But there’s something about the way Uyo has been touching him that’s making it difficult for Gala to focus. Even more so when Uyo pulls up a stool and settles his palm against Gala’s cheek. “I was worried, you know,” Uyo says, his voice slipping out of its medic’s bedside cadence and into a more familiar, personal tone. “When they carried you in here, I thought it was gonna be a lot worse.”

Words are failing Gala faster than the discharge capacity of his Z-6. The warmth of Uyo’s hand on his cheek, the soft way Uyo’s thumb is stroking his skin, makes him want to melt into the sensation. He presses his cheek closer to Uyo’s hand, humming a response as his eyes flutter closed. He can hear Uyo’s voice, still talking about his leg, but the sound washes uncomprehendingly over him. He’s tried so hard to control this, but lately every brush of Uyo’s skin against his sets him on fire. This _wasn’t_ what they were to each other; they’d _talked_ about that. Gala loved Uyo with every last bit of himself, and he knew that Uyo felt the same, but this…intimacy…is something new. It feels like he’s been stripped down, standing defenseless before the blazing sun that is Uyo. He’s caught himself so many times wishing that Uyo would press his lips to his fevered flesh. Stumbled so many times out of their bunk to the ‘freshers in the middle of the night just to clear his head. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe when Uyo is close to him, and––

_“Gala.”_

The word startles Gala out of his thoughts. He jerks as a hand begins running through his hair. It’s Uyo’s voice, of course. Clear and cutting and concerned. “Gala what is it? Are you in pain?”

Gala immediately plasters a smile on his face. “I’m fine.” He tugs Uyo’s hand gently away from his cheek. “I got lost in thought; sorry.” Uyo didn’t need to know how desperate his touch made him; it would ruin everything.

He should have known Uyo would see through it.

_“Sleenshit._ You think I don’t know when you’re lying to me?” From his pocket, Uyo fishes out a penlight, and shines it in Gala’s eyes. “Are you having any pain besides the knee? Are you having shortness of breath?”

Uyo sets the light down and brings his hand toward Gala’s neck, two fingers outstretched to check Gala’s pulse, but Gala captures it before it can touch his skin. _“I’m fine._ I’m not in any pain. Besides the knee. I swear it.”

Gala can see in Uyo’s eyes, as they stare down at him, that Uyo knows he’s holding something back. But he’s only barely holding back. Uyo’s chest is inches from his own, Uyo’s hands almost touching his face. Tension is building between each of their shared breaths, a crackling electricity that sparks over Gala’s skin, amping higher and higher, waiting for just one signal to let it off. Uyo’s eyes flicker to his lips, and the words rush out before he can stop them.

“Do it.”

Uyo’s mouth crashes into Gala’s. His lips are sweet, and needy, and insistent, and Gala opens to him, letting the heat sweep him away. Softly, Uyo’s tongue meets his, slipping over it in gentle flutters. He grips the back of Uyo’s neck, holding him closer, deeper, and a whimpering moan escapes his chest, or Uyo’s chest, he doesn’t even know. He doesn’t know where he ends and Uyo begins. His skin is on fire, his lips trembling as Uyo’s tongue dances over them, and then that tongue is back in his mouth, burning him, melting him, making him moan again as Uyo is moaning again, and his head is swimming, and then…

_“Gala.”_

His name on Uyo’s lips is a prayer, a gasped plea, as Uyo breaks away. But Gala holds him close still, and Uyo rests his forehead against Gala’s, their breath mingling in shaky puffs. Gala struggles to come back to himself, every limb tingling with weightless rapture.

Uyo finally pulls back, far enough to gaze down at Gala. Uyo’s face is flushed, his expression somewhere between bliss and disbelief. Gala can’t help the smile that tugs at his mouth, though he has trouble finding his voice.

“Do you… Do you treat all your patients this way, doctor?”

Uyo’s face beams like the sun as a giggle surges up out of him. His hands cup Gala’scheeks again, so soft, so warm, and then his mouth is on Gala’s once more. It’s over too soon, but Uyo leaves a kiss behind on the tip of his nose. Gala smiles, feeling a peace in his heart that he had never known before, and Uyo smiles back.

“Only the ones I really, really like.”


End file.
